


Good Morning

by boughofbone



Category: FE3H, Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem Three Houses
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Marriage, Post-War, just good old fashioned love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofbone/pseuds/boughofbone
Summary: Byleth awakens to a room she doesn’t recognize, missing the presence of her noble husband. One shot.





	Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ao3 post! I knew I had to join when I didn’t see many Lorenz/Byleth fics. Hopefully I can write some more!

The morning sun bakes warmth into the tiles of their bedroom floor, it’s rays stretching inward across ornate rugs and the rich fabrics of the bedspread. The heat seeps through the fabric and radiates upon her skin, a pleasant sensation to pull her upward and out of rest. At first, she greets it like an enemy. Byleth fights the coming day with childish disdain, not wanting to belong to the world just yet. One of her feet slips through the covers to open air as she stretches like a cat, releasing the stiffness of sleep with a satisfied sigh.  


Though there should be another body in her bed, there isn’t. She instinctively reaches out for the comfort of her husband, wanting to enjoy this rare moment of intimacy. The opportunities to live as a common husband and wife, in its glorious and inane domesticity, were nearly nonexistent. Her ringed hand slips across empty sheets and she responds with a small sigh. His lacking presence finally rouses her completely, squinting at the brightness of her lavishly decorated surroundings.  


For a moment she forgets where she is; instead of her normal quarters at Garreg Mach she is greeted by an entirely different environment. The confusion that only deep rest can conjure makes her eyes survey these surroundings with caution. There is a patio door with rich crimson curtains pulled aside for the golden glow of morning; the light illuminates a high ceiling from beyond her four poster bed’s canopy. Finery of every kind surrounds her and for a moment she feels as if she’s living in a dollhouse. Her memories return gradually, like steeping tea.  


These are her husband’s chambers, her husband’s lands, her husband’s home.  


With a sweep of her eyes, she’s found him. He’s standing stock straight before a grand mirror, adjusting the cravat at his neck with dedicated precision. His lilac hair falls so neatly down across one shoulder, and she catches herself looking at his face through the reflection of silver glass. Lorenz appears content enough, sharp eyes narrowed with the task at hand.  


Byleth shifts her hips and pulls the blankets around herself, keeping her eyes locked upon his features. He must not have heard her rousing behind him, utterly enraptured in his task. “You look radiant.”  


He starts slightly, meeting her eyes through the reflection. Lorenz warms immediately at the sight of his wife, all lines of consternation smoothing out with contentment. “I am glad you think so. After all, would you not agree that looking so is my duty?”  


She hums, all airy and light. “Something tells me you would strive to be so, even if it wasn’t.”  


With a final pull, his cravat is set. He turns from the mirror to face her properly, now fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. He wore violet as if it had been made by the Goddess just for him, and he never failed to honor that gift. The coat he wore was long and fine, embroidered with roses in golden thread and drifting to his knees. With a few long strides he made it to the side of his bed, carefully perching at the edge. “I must do my part to look worthy of you.”  


Byleth pulls her eyebrows together, the small smile falling from her lips. “Do not tell me you still fret over such thoughts.”  


Lorenz shakes his head, his hair swaying with the motion. “I was merely teasing your lofty station, my dearest. One must take great care to look presentable when married to a queen.”  


She gives her silly husband a small sigh, reaching out for his hand. He offers the one adorned with her mother’s ring sweetly and twines their fingers together. “I was hoping to steal more of your time. Before I was the queen for the day, I mean. I wanted more time as Lady Gloucester.”  


“Are you not Lady Gloucester otherwise?”  


“Hush. You know what I mean.”  


He hums in reply, lowering his gaze to their entwined hands. Lorenz seems to be contemplating something carefully, quiet as he reached his verdict. “I did not wish to wake you, so I rose. I figured you needed the rest.”  


“Maybe, but I want you more than sleep.”  


His face flushes, deep and scarlet. Was this truly the same man who had chased the girls of Garreg Mach relentlessly? He seemed prudish now under her affectionate advance, a paradox which Byleth found infinitely delightful. He doesn’t respond; for a moment she doubts he knows how to speak.  


“It’s still early…let your wife be selfish this once. Your duties outside can surely wait for an hour, hm?” She pulls herself up on one elbow, mint hair cascading down her like water. Softly, she squeezes his hand.  


He considers her offer as if it were a royal negotiation. Reasonably speaking there were many things that required his attention outside their oak door; visiting dignitaries who flocked at the knowledge that the queen would be present, minor lords with land disputes, plans for post-war restoration that required his approval and funding. It would be utterly selfish to stay in his rooms and enjoy the company of his wife when so many desired his attention. Yet as his violet eyes roam her, flitting between her eyes before falling to the line of her jaw, the hollow of her throat, the pale exposed skin dipping beneath...he feels his resolve erode away. Lorenz may have considered himself a shrewd politician but this was different. This was more than politics; this was his wife, his family.  


She did not wish to be the queen this morning, nor he the Lord or Roses. The woman before him desired only to be his Lady Gloucester.  


The answer comes when he leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss against her lips. It’s sweet and warm, peaceful and domestic. With his free hand he cups her face as if she were a delicate porcelain teacup, reverent as he traces a thumb along her jaw. “How could I ever refuse you?” He whispers upon her lips. “I live to serve.”  


She separates their tangled hands as quick as a loosed arrow to grip at each side of his collar. With surprising force she pulls him downward into her, laughing once more as he yelps indignantly. Her laughter came easier in his presence, jewels of emotion that he mines from her like diamonds. Smiling against the press of his lips is infectious; she peppers him incessantly with her small affections and before long he laughs in tandem with her mirth.  


“I shall have to dress again, more's the pity.” He gasps between each new assault. “And I was looking so dashing.”  


“You will look even more dashing after I am through with you.”  


He’s not sure that this statement is true, considering his ensemble had been hand tailored to accentuate his features...but he’s more than willing to indulge her. There is a look in her widened eyes that sets his blood ablaze—he wants to be smooth, suave, but he’s no match for the woman beneath him. The clothes on his back become a prison that he cannot he released from soon enough.  


As if reading his mind Lady Gloucester pulls his cravat free with an unceremonious yank, exposing the pale expanse of his throat. With this task complete her attention shifts to hastily undoing the buttons of his coat, her kisses shifting to match her darker intentions. He parts his lips in response, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. It isn’t long before she tears away from his mouth to plant frantic kisses to the newly exposed skin at the hollow of his throat, groaning as she gradually lowers.  


Lorenz gives a hoarse, airy laugh into the morning light and finally abandons all pretense of civility.


End file.
